


Conversation at the Gates

by lovecatcadillac



Category: Bomb Girls
Genre: F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:34:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovecatcadillac/pseuds/lovecatcadillac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gladys has some news for Kate and Betty. Set after <i>Armistice.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversation at the Gates

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Trigger warning for abuse.
> 
> Notes: This one-shot eventuated after I thought to myself, _Let’s be real here. After Gladys finally got it on with James, Kate and Betty totally had to physically restrain her from prancing across the factory floor singing, “I just had sex and it felt soooo good! My fiancé went down on me and it was awesome!”_ This story makes reference to Chapter 5 of my fic _What Kate Does_ and some events in my fic _The Feeling, Itself,_ although it is not essential to read those stories in order to understand this one.
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters and environments belong to Michael MacLennan and Adrienne Mitchell/Shaw Media.

Kate’s not one to drag her feet before an early morning shift, not even on a Monday. Still, on the bright and bitterly cold Monday morning after Armistice Day, she can’t help but feel a pang that the weekend is over. She has to go back to the workaday world of toast and jam for breakfast, running for her street car, lining up, changing clothes and undergoing inspection before heading out onto the floor, pouring amatol and painting bomb casings, five minutes for tea break, twenty for lunch, hot showers to wash off the sharp insinuating stench of cordite, and home again.

How strange it is, that this should be her life. Kate spent her childhood, adolescence and nearly half of her twenties thinking that she’d always just be _stuck,_ devotedly caring for her parents and brothers, taking everything Father dished out because she was bad and she deserved it. It didn’t even really upset her that much, not until she got to be twenty-one and started, guiltily, to wonder what it would be like to want things just for herself.

(Back when Hazel Macdougall used to be part of her little group at work, Kate would listen in wonderment as Hazel reminisced about what a tearaway she was as a teenager, always clashing with her grandmother, who raised her. She couldn’t imagine being that rebellious when she was sixteen or seventeen. Kate – Marion – was practically a little girl then. Not really a person at all.)

Kate shocked everyone, herself most of all, by running off to Toronto and getting a job in a factory. It still seems rather unbelievable when she thinks it to herself like that. Like something out of a story, or someone else’s life. She learned to earn her own living, to drink, dance, wear lipstick and high heels. All those things seemed incredible enough, but this past weekend, Kate’s had a taste of something even more dizzyingly new.

She’s performed to an audience – not passers-by, or parishioners, but a real audience. Kate knows what it is to be applauded now, to have people approve of her without immediately following it up with, _“You would be so good, if you would only just...”_ She knows what it is to sing everything in her heart … everything she feels about Betty...

She was so close to telling Betty that she loves her, when they walked home together after Kate’s debut at Tangiers. Kate started to, a little, babbling drunkenly about how she’s so lucky that Betty is in her life. She’s glad she was able to stop herself. Kate wants it to be perfect, when she lets Betty know that she’s changed her whole world.

Kate is drawn out of herself by a voice yelling her name. Gladys is moving through the main gate, stowing her ID back in her purse as she breaks into a run. “Kate!” she calls, waving as though she thinks Kate might possibly miss her. “Over here!”

“Hi, Gladys,” Kate says as her friend joins her. “How was your weekend?”

“Absolutely incredible.” Gladys hesitates before taking both of Kate’s hands. “I have something to tell you.”

Kate bites her lip against the excitement bubbling up from deep inside her. “As a matter of fact, I have something to tell you too.”

Gladys is clearly bursting to share her news, but valiantly forces out the words, “Why don’t you go first?”

There was a time when Kate would have automatically let Gladys go first – would have let absolutely anyone go first, but especially beautiful, rich, poised people who believed they deserved everything they wanted. She feels a bit funny, still, that Gladys is the one waiting on her to speak. It helps that what she’s got to say to Gladys is so very important.

“On Armistice Day, Leon let me sing with the band at Tangiers.” Kate feels slightly breathless as she says it, as though she’s the one who’s just been running, not Gladys.

Gladys claps her hands. “Kate, that’s wonderful! Just what you’ve wanted for ages.”

“I got up in front of everybody and sang Billie Holiday, and Betty...” Kate is suddenly lost for words, feeling shy for reasons she has trouble explaining. “Well, she was there, she’ll tell you.”

“I’ll bet you were the star of the evening.”

“I don’t know about that, but I was bought an awful lot of drinks afterwards.” Kate puts her hand to her forehead. “I’m still a little hung over, to tell the truth.”

“Well, you don’t look it,” says Gladys kindly, but she’s fidgeting. Gladys never fidgets, she’s far too composed.

It makes Kate laugh. “All right, you’ve held it in long enough. Tell me what’s up.”

Gladys tosses her curls back over her shoulder. “Notice anything different about me?”

Kate looks her up and down. “Is that a new blouse?”

“What?” Gladys waves a hand impatiently. “Well, yes it is, but that’s not it.” Inclining her head towards Kate, she says in an undertone, “James and I made love on Saturday night.”

Kate blinks, unsure how to feel or what to do with her face. “Oh my goodness,” she says, without emotion.

Gladys frowns. “Kate, what’s the matter? You’re not shocked, are you?”

Weakly, Kate says, “Just ... surprised.”

“I didn’t think you would be.”

“Why?” asks Kate, unable to keep a trace of defensiveness out of her voice.

Gladys is silent for a moment. Kate can see Gladys’ face working as she tries not to say what she’s thinking. _She thinks all poor people go all the way before marriage. Or if they haven’t yet, then they want to._ Kate blushes, unsure whether she’s embarrassed for herself or Gladys.

Gladys clears her throat. “Why shouldn’t two people in love give themselves to each other?”

“I don’t know,” says Kate, fervently wishing she was absolutely anywhere else. Then, because the curiosity she’s feeling is currently the only emotion she can actually name, she asks, “How did it happen?”

“Well, actually, James broke off our engagement the night before Armistice Day, because of Lewis’ letters. I was right, he did find one.” Gladys grimaces ruefully. “The worst one, as luck would have it.”

Kate looks aghast at Gladys’ ring finger, which is bare as it always is when she’s waiting to start work. Perhaps now, it’s bare for a different reason. “Oh, Gladys!”

“No, don’t worry, it’s all still rosy, I swear.” Gladys beckons Kate closer. “I knew that James had a perfect right not to want a bride who keeps secrets from him, but then I thought-” Gladys’ face is briefly filled with such lonely pain that Kate has an urge to hug her. “Oh, I just thought that I couldn’t lie down and accept it. I had to try. I love him. I couldn’t lose him.”

Kate nods. “So what did you do?”

“I wrote Lewis one final letter, explaining that I shouldn’t have accepted his proposal. Then I told my parents I was going to Carol’s to sleep over, and took a taxi to James’ apartment.” Gladys laughs in spite of herself. “God knows what I would have done with myself that evening, if he hadn’t let me in. I’d have probably ended up sleeping on a park bench. I wasn’t in my right mind. I’m _glad_ I wasn’t.”

“What happened then?”

“I stood outside James’ door, and read the letter out loud. He let me in, and we talked. You would’ve been so proud, Kate. We’ve never been so honest with each other before. We agreed that we’d done this all wrong, me with Lewis and him with Hazel, and I ... I said he should make it up to me. We kissed, and he lay me down on the couch and – and I think you can imagine the rest.” Gladys gives an embarrassed grin, which fades at Kate’s expression. “You are shocked.”

“I’m not,” insists Kate.

“Well, then, why are you looking like that?”

“I just ... when I was young, I was always taught that it was wrong.”

Gladys looks impatient. “Never mind about when you were young. Do you think it’s wrong _now,_ going all the way before marriage?”

Kate shrugs. “I don’t know if I’d do it.”

Gladys winces noticeably. She looked so pleased and proud just a minute ago. She obviously wasn’t expecting judgement, not from Kate.

Hurriedly, Kate says, “I’m not looking down on you for it. All I know is that I _don’t_ know if I would do it myself. That doesn’t mean I disapprove. It just means what it means.”

Gladys nods, before suggesting, “Maybe it depends on the person. Perhaps when you’re in love, you’ll want to.”

“Maybe,” agrees Kate. “This is all a bit beyond me. You know, I’ve never even been kissed by a man.”

Gladys eyes her. “You haven’t kissed anybody?”

Kate shakes her head. “My folks were very strict about that sort of thing, when I was a girl. I wasn’t allowed to have boyfriends. And, well, we moved around a lot, so I didn’t have that many girlfriends either. Mostly, I just stayed home with Mom. I didn’t mind much. I love my mother more than anyone in the world, and I was shy of other kids. But ... sometimes it feels like I missed out on too much, and now I can’t catch up.”

“You’re all grown up now, and they’re not around to dictate what you do,” says Gladys briskly. “Have you got your eye on anyone?”

“I...” Kate trails off. “I’m just trying to get by, at the moment. But I wish someone would sweep me off my feet, the way you’ve been.”

“They will,” says Gladys. “I guarantee it. Then you can come to me and tell me every detail.”

“It’s a deal.” Kate puts out her hand, and they shake on it playfully. “Have you told anyone else?”

“I might leave off telling Carol for a little while. I think keeping my job on the floor a secret is enough of a strain for her at the moment.” Gladys smiles to herself. “I just sort of want to hold it to myself for awhile, have it be my own special thing, you know? Mine and James’ special thing.”

“But you told me.” The words have already left Kate’s mouth before she realises just how momentous that is.

“I had to tell someone! I would’ve exploded otherwise, which would be inadvisable in a place like this.” Gladys pauses. “I want you to be there when I tell Betts.”

“You’re going to tell Betty?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Gladys seems to glow with anticipation. “I wonder if Betty will know?”

“Know what?”

“Know that I’ve done it, before I tell her. She knows a thing or two about life, and besides, I think I look a little different, don’t you?”

_ She looks, _ Kate thinks, _exactly the same as before._ For Kate, it’s a cheering notion, that a person could be so irrevocably changed and carry it around with them as a sweet secret. She was raised to think that if a woman went all the way before marriage, people would be able to see it, would be able to almost smell it on her.

Clearly, Gladys wants to feel that people can appreciate the change in her, so Kate says gently, “I think ... if you feel different, then that’s the way you are.”

“Excellent.” She grabs Kate’s hand. “Oh, God, there’s Betty. Come on, let’s do this, before I lose my nerve.” Kate doesn’t think that losing her nerve has ever been a problem for Gladys, but she allows Gladys to drag her over to where Betty is sitting, on the ledge by the smoking station.

“Morning, princess,” Betty says as they approach, nodding at Gladys. “What’s the good word?”

Gladys puts her hands on her hips and her chin in the air. “Notice anything different about me? Apart from my new blouse?”

“It’s far too bloody early for guessing games.”

“Just try,” Gladys implores. “You’ll get it, it’s easy.”

Betty sighs in resignation. “Did you change your hair?” she asks.

“I - well, yes, actually. But that’s not it.”

Betty looks her up and down. “No new jewellery. Which is good, because I don’t need to tell you that stuff belongs in your jewellery room at home.”

Gladys rolls her eyes. “It’s nothing I’m wearing, all right? It’s _me._ ”

“New manicure?” asks Betty. She’s being deliberately obtuse now, teasing Gladys. Kate can’t help but laugh. Against everything she was brought up to believe, she’s getting swept up in the excitement of this moment.

“For someone as smart as you are, you’re certainly slow to catch on,” Gladys says in exasperation. “Shall I just tell her, Kate?”

Kate nods. “I think you’d better.”

“I’m a woman now.” At Betty’s uncomprehending look, Gladys clarifies, “I went all the way on Saturday night.”

Kate eyes Betty, wondering what she’ll say. Gladys is right, Betty’s not easily shocked. She’s personally acquainted with a pornographer, for goodness’ sake. Kate would honestly be stunned if Betty were to shun Gladys ... but she’s nervous to hear Betty’s opinion all the same. She’s not really sure what she’ll do – how she’ll feel – if Betty acts like going all the way is something they all should have done already.

Kate felt so triumphant, the other night at Tangiers. It was similar to that delicious feeling she got the first time they went to Sandy Shores, when she asked Betty to dance with her, only … so much bigger, like ripples on the surface of a pond. Kate loves being more than what she seems, more than what people expect. Having that knowledge inside her makes her feel so grand. Right now, it feels like the next words out of Betty’s mouth have the power to take all that away.

Betty’s eyebrows lift. “With James?” Betty asks, smirking.

“Of course with James!” Gladys smacks Betty’s shoulder indignantly.

“Easy with that right hook, Witham, I gotta work today,” Betty says, waving her off. She regards Gladys. “And how’s it feel to be _that_ kind of girl?”

“Fantastic.” Looking like she can’t hold back another minute, Gladys dives forward, cups her hand around Betty’s ear and whispers something.

Betty rears back. “Oh, Christ, don’t tell me that!” She’s laughing, though. “I’m impressed. That particular move ain’t in most guys’ usual repertoire. I didn’t think your young man had it in him.”

“James most certainly _does,_ so you can just shut up.”

As Betty and Gladys laugh together, Kate hangs back, feeling shy. She wants to know what they’re talking about, but at the same time, she doesn’t. She can’t possibly ask. She doesn’t want to draw attention to herself. What if this makes them realise they don’t want to be around someone as innocent as Kate?

Kate knows that Betty had a boyfriend for a week as a young teenager, that she broke it off because she didn’t like kissing him. She’s never made reference to any other romances, but all of a sudden, Kate is struck by the increasingly likely possibility that Betty has gone all the way too. It is a very confronting idea. She’s always thought Betty’s penchant for dirty jokes came from a lifetime in the company of men, not from personal experience. Kate was raised to believe that good people just don’t do things like that, and Betty is the best person she knows.

Suddenly, she’s picturing Betty laughing against some shadowy man’s lips, his big hands encircling her waist as she kisses him deeply. It’s not the first time the mental image has jumped into her head. The first time she imagined it, she was so scared that people – Betty – would be able to see what she was thinking. She doesn’t feel the same way now. Picturing Betty kissing a man, Kate just feels so small, and sad, and lost, and she doesn’t know why.

Just when Kate is starting to seriously consider creeping away and leaving the grown-ups to their conversation, Gladys does the loveliest thing. She links her arm with Kate’s and says to Betty, “Putting my fall from grace aside for a minute, Kate tells me you saw her singing debut at Tangiers.”

“I did,” says Betty.

“And how was it?”

“Everyone loved her. She lit up the whole place.” Betty says it gruffly, but with feeling.

A lump comes into Kate’s throat. Betty said such lovely things to her after she came off-stage, and when they were walking home. That whole evening feels like a beautiful dream now, in the daylight. She’s always had trouble imagining people being kind to her, so it makes her feel almost guilty to remember that night. There’s something so wonderful about having Betty talk about it here, when they’re both sober and in their work clothes.

_ She doesn’t care, _ Kate realises joyously. _She doesn’t care that I’ve never kissed anybody. She’s not going to go off with Gladys, and laugh at me. Nobody has to look down on anybody._

Kate’s never thought she could have such friends. Between the two of them, they know everything that makes Kate feel terrible about herself: that she’s a twenty-four year-old woman who’s never been kissed, never had a beau, whose own father thought she was so wicked that he beat her until it left scars. Yet they are smiling at her so proudly. Betty McRae and Gladys Witham are worth every minute of the endless ages Kate spent waiting for them.

“I was so nervous, in front of all those people,” Kate admits. “But now I know for sure that singing is what I want to do with my life.”

“Why on earth shouldn’t you? It’s a new world, we can do whatever we want to,” Gladys says. She gets a dreamy look in her eyes, and Kate knows she’s thinking about her night with James. Kate meets Betty’s gaze and finds Betty trying not to laugh.

“Reliving every moment, are we?” Betty says, smirking.

“Let’s just say I’m thinking about what I want to do with _my_ life,” says Gladys.

“With your _life,_ or your fiancé’s-?”

“I feel like we should bake you a cake or something,” says Kate, cutting across her.

Betty laughs. “What message would you ice across the top? _Congratulations on losing your-_ ”

Gladys smacks her again. “Betts!”

Kate shakes her head at the two of them. “How about just, ‘Congratulations’?” she suggests quietly.

Betty gives her a long look, an admiring look. “S’pose that’d work. That way, we can put our minds to thinking of something _really_ smutty to write on Gladys’ wedding cake.”

Gladys bounces a little on the spot. “I’m so happy! I want to hug it to myself, but I want to tell the whole world, too. I want to run across the factory floor, shouting it at the top of my lungs.”

“Don’t,” Betty advises.

Kate giggles. “Yes, I think that was listed under Do Not Do in Mrs Corbett’s workplace conduct pamphlets.”

Gladys makes a face at her. “It’s maddening, this double standard. I can’t wait until this war is over, when all this silliness about reputations can just be done away with. It’s so Victorian.”

The siren sounds for the start of shift. The women all around them begin making their way up the ramp, to line up for inspection before they make their way to the change room. Betty hops down from the wall, snapping her purse closed.

Gladys heaves a sigh. “Back to toiling and sweating away for the big man in the office, I suppose.” She gives a small smile. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Betty gives an exaggerated groan, but her eyes are full of mirth. She’s nowhere near done teasing Gladys. “If you ever mention sweating away for Harold Akins again, I will vomit on your shoes and that’s a promise.”

“Very funny. I am nothing if not professional, Miss Betty McRae,” Gladys says haughtily. “You just have a filthy mind.”

“I just want to say-” Kate catches hold of Betty and Gladys’ sleeves. They both look quizzically back at her. Kate takes a deep breath. “I know when you told me, I was a bit – surprised, and Betty made fun, but you should know that ... if you’re happy, Gladys, then we’re happy for you. Right, Betty?”

“Sure, as long as you promise to never tell me anything like what you hissed in my ear two minutes ago, ever again.” At a look from Kate, Betty amends it to, “Sure.”

“Well, you know I’m happy for the two of you, no matter what happens,” Gladys says. “It’s how things are supposed to be, with friends.” She says the word deliberately, going a little pink and looking at Betty out of the tail of her eye, like she’s afraid Betty will snort and say, _“Are you cracked in the head? I do_ not _make friends with prissy rich girls.”_

Kate knows in her heart that Betty won’t. She’s known for sure since the night Gladys came to the euchre party in her fur wrap and diamonds, when Betty handed Gladys a drink and said, _“You’re here now. That’s something.”_

They’ve known for awhile that Gladys is their friend, but something stopped them from saying it to her. Betty’s pride, and Kate’s unsureness as to how all of this is supposed to work, and Gladys’ insistence that she’s just like any other worker at Vic Mu, even as she makes everyone snicker when she thoughtlessly refers to belonging to a country club and being brought up by a succession of nannies. All those things still exist, but they don’t seem to matter so much now.

Kate is so, so proud of Betty when Betty says, “Friends don’t let friends catch it from Mrs Corbett for being late. Let’s _go._ ”

They walk up the ramp together, Kate and Betty and Gladys. Gladys has a spring in her step, so thrilled about making love with James, so pleased that finally, _finally,_ Betty has well and truly acknowledged that they are friends. Betty saunters with her hands buried oh-so-casually in her pockets, her purse held casually under her arm, a little embarrassed by her simple declaration of friendship, but making no effort to distance herself from Gladys by walking faster, like she would have done in the past. And Kate? Kate is just smiling and smiling, because she never thought that life could be this way, that she would ever be able to walk shoulder to shoulder with people who like her just the way she is.

Victory Munitions is the place where a new world began for each of them. Perhaps it doesn’t have to be where it ends.


End file.
